Don't Go, Michelangelo
by Mikell
Summary: Wisdom comes in many forms and families are the same, whether you wear a shell or pale pink nail polish and sensible leather flats. A One-shot about a rather unlikely guardian angel on a dark night in an alley. COMPLETE


**A/N: Yeah, I know, it's usually Raph who gets mad and storms out. But I think even happy-go-lucky Mike might need a little alone time now and then, don't you? I mean, living with three brothers in close quarters... it's got to be tough. **

**This one goes out in memory of my own gran, the real Bernice, who was one of the wisest ladies I've ever known, and to Drea, who was my first beta on this one. **

**Thanks also, as always, to Melody Winters, Polaris'05 and Diva Danielle for reading and encouragement.**

**I still own no turtles, except for an action figure or two, and of course am making no profit from this fic.  
Thanks to the owners for allowing us to play with their toys.  
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_**Don't Go, Michelangelo**_

***

_Just once, _thought Mikey, _I'd like to be able to go out without Leo giving me a ten minute lecture on safety in numbers and the importance of the team. Sometimes I wish I was an only Turtle._

A cry from the alley had him skidding to a stop. He peered over the edge of the building, reaching for his nunchucks. He didn't even pause to think before diving over the building's edge. Michelangelo swung down the fire escape, plowing into the Purple Dragon just as he heard the wretched wail of the old woman they'd been terrorizing. She staggered backward, falling heavily to the ground. The man who'd been gripping her blouse an instant earlier let go in shock as Mikey's nunchucks connected solidly with the side of his head.

Mike made short work of the five men, taking them down with a minimum amount of banter for a change. He'd seen the woman's expression of abject terror as he scaled the building to reach her. The men had chosen a grandmotherly lady with her silver hair puffed neatly around her face. Mikey'd seen her comfortably padded frame quivering as one of the punks held a knife to her throat, demanding her purse. Michelangelo could joke in almost any situation but this time, he was just sickened and angry.

"Dudes. Uncool, pickin' on someone's gramma," he muttered as the last Dragon fell at his feet. He turned, intending to disappear into the shadows before the frightened woman could get a good look at him, but he paused, hearing a ragged gasp.

"Are you ok, Lady?" he ventured back toward the woman who was still laying where she'd fallen, careful to stick to the darker shadow of the building, knowing the streetlight behind him would create a dazzling effect, further concealing him from her.

"I… I'm afraid I… I may be bleeding." The woman's voice quavered slightly. Michelangelo approached cautiously, pausing a few feet from the woman, still keeping to the shadows. His breath caught as the familiar metallic scent of blood hit him like a tidal wave.

"Holy shell," he whispered, kneeling. He reached out, not quite touching her leg, and drew back.

_I don't know how to deal with this,_ he thought, panic fizzing through him. _If she sees me she'll just freak out. I'd better get out of here and call 9-1-1. _

The old woman lay on the pavement, the pool of weak light from the streetlight falling gently on her pleasant, wrinkled face. Her hand was pressed to her side and her eyes were closed, crinkled around the edges in obvious distress. Her ruffled white blouse peeked discreetly from between the lapels of her rose jacket. Mikey noticed she'd lost a shoe. The other sensible, soft leather flat hung half way off her foot, revealing a small tear in the stocking that showed below her tasteful calf-length skirt.

She looked very much like someone's kindly old grandmother, in her smart outfit ready for a day of shopping, but she would never wear that outfit shopping again. The blood seeping from beneath her hand made sure of that, spreading in a crimson stain along the side of her jacket and trickling onto the pavement in a small but spreading pool.

"I… I'll get help," said Michelangelo. He tried to keep his voice calm, steady, but it shook. "I'll call… don't worry, lady. The ambulance will be here soon. You're gonna be ok…" He flipped open his shell-cell even as he stood up, punching the necessary numbers.

"Wait… please… don't leave…" Her voice was barely a whisper, but Mike froze.

"I… I'm callin' for help," he said quickly, taking a step toward the fire escape.

"Please… don't leave me." This time her eyes opened wide, and she peered into the darkness. "Don't… go…" Her free hand reached out, her fingers grasping as if she could reach him, draw him back, even as he gave the operator the location.

Michelangelo paused. _Leo'll kill me if he finds out I hung around, _he thought_. We're ninjas. Strike hard and fade away. _

The woman shifted, stretching the arm that wasn't pressed against her seeping side. The faint glow from the streetlight gave her a silvery halo.

"Don't go..."

Michelangelo nodded, even though he knew she couldn't see him in the deeper shadow under the fire escape.

"Ok, I'm right here." Cautiously he came back to her side, kneeling near the wall. "Listen, I'll stay until the ambulance gets here, ok?"

"Don't leave," she pleaded again.

"Ok."

"Please… come closer."

"Ok." Mikey shifted, staying near the wall, until he was nearly level with her waist.

"Why… don't you want… me… to see you?"

"I… I'm kinda shy."

"Shy?"

"Yeah."

"That's ok. I… used to be… too... when I was... young." She smiled, but Mikey could see how gray she'd gone, sweat beading on her lip.

"Do… you live… nearby?" she asked.

"Not far," he answered. "You shouldn't talk too much, ok? The ambulance will be here soon. Just take it easy."

"Please…" her hand reached toward him, but Mike wasn't quite close enough for her to touch. "Don't go…" Her eyes fluttered closed. Her breathing was slow and shallow now. It was obviously an effort for her to draw breath.

"Ok. I won't leave you until they come," he told her.

"I… don't want to die… alone," she whispered.

"You're not going to die."

"I'm afraid… I might," she answered. Her eyes opened again and she gazed toward him with a sad smile. "Young man… I am… eighty-seven years old."

"Umm… wow," he said.

The woman chuckled, then gasped, clutching at her bleeding side. "Wow, indeed," she managed after a moment.

_Ok what does Donny say about bleedin? You're supposed ta stay awake. _

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Bernice Louise Dietrich," she answered, panting slightly. "It's nice to meet you…?"

"Michelangelo," he supplied. "Michelangelo Hamato. But my brothers call me Mikey."

"Mi…chel…angelo," she managed between ragged, gasping breaths. "It's… a beautiful… name." Her lips twitched into a weak smile. "Did... you know... Michelangelo... is... one of the archangels?" She drew a sudden, gasping breath as her body shuddered.

Almost involuntarily, Mikey reached out, touching her hand, which clenched, her nails raking against the rough alley floor. She managed a faint smile, turning her head toward him again. Her fingers wrapped around his leather wrist-band, and she clung with a surprisingly strong grip, as if he were her lifeline. Mikey glanced down at her hand, noting the pale stain of pink brushed across her short nails, a color that spoke of class and contentment.

Another shudder wracked her, and her back arched slightly, a soft cry escaping her.

"It's gonna be ok, Mrs. Dietrich," said Mikey quickly. "Just take it easy and breathe slow, ok? That's what my brother tells me when I get hurt."

The woman moved her head in what might have been a nod, and drew a deep breath with an obvious effort. Letting it out slowly, she managed another weak smile.

"Your brother… is… very smart," she whispered.

"Yeah, Donny's a genius," said Mikey. A grin tugged at his mouth. "He's the smartest guy I know."

"You… have… a family then?"

"Yeah. Three brothers, and our father."

"I… have a sister."

"Really? I always wanted a sister. I mean, we've got April, and she's like a sister, but she's not really, you know?"

Bernice smiled. "I haven't… seen my sister… in almost ten years," she managed.

"Really? Why?" Mikey shook his head. He shifted, sitting on the hard concrete beside her, taking the pressure off his knees. He knew he was risking having her notice his less-than-human profile, but his knees were killing him. He was still masked by the shadows, and she was distracted. She relaxed slightly when he sat, and he felt reassured that she still couldn't see him. He drew one knee upward, draping his arm over it. "I can't imagine not seein' one of my bro's for ten years."

Mike hesitated for a moment, considering the safety of divulging more information about his family. "There was that time my brother Leo went off for a year by himself, but he came home again, you know? And I… I really missed him when he was gone."

"I… can imagine. I… miss Helen. We… argued."

"Well maybe you can give her a call," said Mikey. "You know, when you're better."

She managed a small smile. "May… be."

"My bros fought once," said Mike quietly. "Raph, he gets kinda… well, he's got a temper. Him an' Leo had a big fight. But they made up. That's what families do, ya know?"

Blue lights flashed and a siren blared a few blocks away.

"That's my cue, Dudette," said Michelangelo. "The ambulance guys are here. I've gotta go now, ok?"

"Michelangelo…" She clung to his wrist.

"I… I gotta go. I'm sorry," he whispered.

Her grip weakened. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her hand before giving it a pat.

"Goodbye…" she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed. "Michelangelo… Thank you… for staying with me."

"No problem, Mrs. Dietrich. You take care of yourself, ok? And call your sister. I bet she'd love to hear from you, you know?" Mikey glanced toward the alley entrance. He could hear doors slamming and radios crackling. "Families gotta stick together."

He paused for an instant, gazing into the woman's face. She was peaceful, still, with a faint smile on her lips. Her eyes were closed, and her chest was so still he wasn't certain if she was breathing or not.

"Take care, Mrs. Dietrich," he whispered, before stepping away, and taking the necessary leap to the fire escape ladder. He disappeared over the ledge of the building as the EMT wheeled the stretcher into the alley.

"Hey, Frank, she's over here!" he heard the man yell to his partner.

Michelangelo beat a hasty retreat across the rooftop, disappearing into the night. His shell-cell beeped and he paused in his headlong flight, flipping it open.

"'llo."

"_Hey, Mike. I just wanted to make sure you were ok. You should've been home almost an hour ago_."

Michelangelo smiled. "No sweat, Leo. I'm on my way right now."

"_Ok, Mike. Hurry up, ok? It'll be getting light soon_."

"I'll be right there, Bro. And Leo?"

"_Yeah, Mikey?_"

"I love you."

There was a pause. "_I love you too, Mike._"

Michelangelo grinned, heading off across the rooftops. It was time to go home.

***


End file.
